“Love walked in the door like a dusty cowboy, and I looked that cowboy dead in his eyes and said, “I thought I shot you.” And his eyes never blinked, wavered, or watered as he said, “You did. You shot me in the leg. But you can’t kill love that easily. And today you’re going to learn how deadly Love can be.” That was over four years ago, and I’m still alive. So that was his plan all along, to serve me up a super slow death. Sort of like torture, only imperceptible and more pleasant.”

“The only drink I like ice in is water, because you can’t water down water. I’m like that with love, too. Don’t you dare add any ice to the hot liquid loving I’m trying to pour all over you.”

“Just because I look like John Wayne (at least my liver looks identical to his) doesn’t mean I play cowboy with politics. I’m going to vote for Philo T. Farnsworth for president, and so should you.”

“Cupid, that chubby cherub love dispenser, is dead. But before he died, he appointed me his apprentice in love. I loved Cupid, and that was precisely why I killed him. I strangled him. Then I shot him 17 times with his heart-shaped arrows. Then I burned his body while I roasted and toasted marshmallows and toasted to the good times he brought to the world. Then I took his ashes and mixed them in cake batter and literally consumed him. Mark it down: I have officially taken over as the foremost authority on love. I can't fly around like he could, but I have other endearing qualities. I can’t think of any at the moment, but I must have some.”

“I am the archaeologist of love. I’m digging for the bones of a loved one I shot and buried decades ago.”

“I removed all the doors to our love, so you can’t lock yourself away from me. But I didn’t stop there. I also replaced the doors with metal detectors, so I could fondle you more efficiently, like the highly trained professionals do who run airport security.
”

“This is the true story of my life, as told by a complete liar (me). While that sounds like an honest statement, it’s also a lie. I just can’t help myself. Unless I’m helping myself to seconds at dinner. You see, I can’t possibly be a complete liar, because I’m a rather incomplete person. I look complete on the outside—two arms, legs, ears, eyes, etc—but on the inside I feel half empty at times. If I were a glass of water, I’d make myself thirstier for more than I could supply. I thirst for love like a straw in the Sahara. I hunger for your body like a cannibal in the mountains. Wait, that last bit wasn’t true. I should have said cannibal on a deserted island.”